A Bold Discussion
by Vashoth
Summary: "You do have serving staff now." He said bluntly. "You don't have to wash your own laundry." Her eyes blinked open and she stared at a spot in front of her. "I… hadn't thought about it." "Seriously?" She shook her head. "Seriously."


A/N: This is another OT4 universe fic (see the description in my profile for details), but since it's really only Rees and Fenris appearing in this fic, I just marked it as Fenhawke. But as always, go shower Nebulad with praise because they own Luca-the actual genuine Hawke of this universe.

...

Fenris eyed the muddy brown rags Rees carried in her obviously home made mesh sack. It never failed to amaze him how a woman incapable of describing her own meals with anything more poetic than "sorta salty" managed to gracefully descend the cliffs of the Wounded Coast like a professional dancer. She didn't even watch for footholds. He should have gone first, he thought irritably, now faced with the daunting threat of pitch black spiraled horns at about eyeball level threatening to skewer him if he mis-stepped. Or if she halted. Which happened a _lot_.

Save for the usual overhang of greyclouds, the coast of Sundermount was surprisingly not horrible. The rocky dust Southerners seemed to consider to be sand grated on his bare feet like teeth, but if that was the worst of it then he could take it.

"Do you need instructions on how to wash clothing?" Fenris asked cooly, stepping to the side to avoid running into Rees' back when she stilled to look at him bewilderedly. He kept his gaze even and gestured to the grimey pack slung over her shoulder. "Your laundry, _Mora_. The reason we are here."

"I know what laundry is."

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Really? Such lowly knowledge for such a highly ranking noble. You _humble_ me." Understanding bloomed on her face and a sharp jab at his side made him snicker. "So unladylike."

Rees snorted and knelt to tie the loose strings of her pack to a jagged rock and tossed the mesh full of clothing into the cold water. Fenris watched the cloud of reddish brown muddy the waters around the bag and realized it was blood. "Mostly yours or your victims?" He asked, not feeling the need to specify as he followed suit with his own bag.

"Targets," she corrected, "not victims." She fell back onto the rocky beach carefully and stretched out her legs. It was hard to believe they were the same height when he sat beside her. The thickest part of her thigh was easily the size of both his put together. He prodded at the muscle curiously. "And it's about half and half."

Fenris nodded silently and turned his attention back to the waves crashing gently against the rocks and the two scraps of rope on separate rocks holding their entire wardrobes (despite Bela and Luca's best efforts). Rees was content to let the air grow still around them. She blinked her eyes lazily and watched her bag bob up and down with the tide until it looked like too much effort to keep her silver lashes lifted.

Fenris stared unashamedly, taking note of the new and healing scars dotting across her shoulders, neck and ears. The ear closest to him had a notch taken out towards the pointed tip and she'd been so worried she'd lost the tip completely and look ( _Maker forbid_ ) human. As if the Vashoth woman ever had to even worry.

"You do have serving staff now." He said bluntly. "You don't have to wash your own laundry."

Rees' eyes blinked open and she stared at a spot in front of her. "I… hadn't thought about it."

"Seriously?"

She shook her head. "Seriously."

"What does Orana even do for you?" He asked. She flinched and he didn't miss it.

"Whatever she wants, I guess." Her eyes shut again and she leaned back until she lay her bare back on the rocky beach. Fenris stayed sitting and only tilted to lean on one hip so he could keep watching her face. She glowered at him. "Is that good enough for you?"

"And you pay her." Fenris said flatly. It wasn't a question but Rees mm'd in agreement. His eyes narrowed suspiciously for a second and she made a point not to look away. Seeing no sign that she was lying, he huffed a bit and settled again so that he faced the ocean. "You surprise me."

Rees balked loudly. "By not owning slaves?"

Fenris shrugged. "You could."

" _No_."

He glanced at her again and her face was cold steel. Her lips were pursed grimly in a way that was only accompanied by stern silver eyebrows furrowing beneath the start of her long horns. He felt his own scowl and recognized the bitterness in the pull of his face but did not bother to amend it.

"Is that what this is about?" She asked. "Orana? You think I'm some piece of shit slaver now?"

He shook his head and refused to elaborate. Rees groaned, sitting up and dusting the sharp rocks off her horns and palms. She gave him a harsh look and nudged him gently with her muscled shoulder. With the hand that wasn't supporting her weight, she adjusted the wrap that clasped across her back in a slim black band, shaking some of the gravel away. All the while, she stared at him expectantly. "Are you going to spit it out? Or do I have to fight you for it?"

Fenris snorted. "You have such confidence that you would win."

"What was that shit Lucky said? Patterns repeat?" Her voice was casual but it alleviated some of the tension in his chest. She wasn't genuinely mad, then. Irritation still tickled at his rib-cage and he wasn't sure where the source was. She continued, "And you're not even in your armour. You'd be down in five seconds flat."

"Said boldly for someone wearing a skirt and a breastband."

Half a moment passed and the weight of an entire Vashoth woman slammed into his side. He threw up his palms to throw her off and only succeded in re-directing her weight to the side of him where she crashed roughly. He didn't make the mistake of assuming she'd stay down and quickly pounced, grabbing her wrists and pinning one of her legs with his own. She rolled her eyes and made to slam her horned forehead into his–predictable but effective. He flinched back to avoid the crash and she easily toppled him over onto his back with her weight pinning him as best she could manage. He glared.

"You're right," she said. "That was far quicker than five seconds."

He wriggled a little and she let him up without fuss. She brushed more of the sharp gravel from her thick skin and rubbed at the spots where the stony pieces left indents in her skin. Fenris shook out his own hair and rolled his shoulders back to prevent stiffness. He sat up, facing her. She made no motion to give him the same attention.

"So I hire Orana, have a title," She made a face at the last word. "And you're pissier than Horse in a storm. But it's _unrelated_."

Fenris granted a wry smile. "Of course."

She nodded and frowned with thought. Her nose scrunched up a bit and she played with the gravel in front of her absently. "Then I don't owe you shit."

He laughed a little and scratching at his ribs lessened a little. "I suppose not."

They quieted again, staring at bags bobbing up and down. The clothes were clean as they ever would be by now, but neither wanted to wade out into the chill water to fetch them. She scooched closer unsubtly, and placed her hand roughly over his. He grunted in response.

"I'm not nobility." She said frankly.

"Kirkwall records begs to differ." He replied sourly. "And a mansion in Hightown with your name on it doesn't ring of poverty."

She scowled again. "You have a mansion too."

"Stolen," he corrected. She rolled her eyes.

"And you really think of me as nobility?" She turned her head to stare at him sharply. "Going to recommend silks to match my eyes, serah?"

"That's not what–"

"Being seen with some lowly peasant in such a state of undress as this is unthinkable!" She did her best impression of the nobles in the Hightown market, her hand clutching at her heart with distress. She swooned backwards, horn tips dangerously close to dragging along the steep gravel. "You impute my honour, serah."

" _Impute_ ," he repeated. "Nice."

She grinned a little. "Bela taught me."

He nodded. Her hand still lay heavy on his and he squeezed lightly. "Still. Power corrupts. And absolute power corrupts absolutely."

She stared at him incredulously. "You sound like Anders."

He huffed and took his hand away. If she was offended, she didn't show it. "Sebastian. It's in the Psalms." Her nose scrunched up in distaste and she grumbled something under her breath in elvish that sounded vulgar. He ignored it. "It's a good point."

"Alright. I'll try not to get involved in politics."

It was hard not to laugh outright at the idea of Rees attending a dinner party as anything other than an assassin. "Not what I meant, Mora."

"Then _what_ , Goose? Or are you just going to be a dick about it from now on?"

"Probably," He said wryly. "Just… Just know what you are." She raised an eyebrow at him and he continued, "No matter how you act, it carries different weight. More power."

Now both eyebrows raised and she considered the idea thoughtfully. It mulled over in her mind for a while and he could watch the gears in her head struggling to understand the concept. But she took it seriously. It set him more at ease.

"Unless I lose all respectability," she said slowly. "No one respects the Du Launcets, right?"

"Are you planning on having a bastard son sent to the Circle?" He said dryly.

She stood up and stretched, one leg behind her so that she could bend herself backwards with impossibly control and flexibility. "I was thinking something more simple. You could move in."

He blinked. "What?"

"You know, elf with weird tattoos, usually covered in blood, obviously stolen the mansion of a powerful Tevinter magister." She counted it off on her fingers. "Even without that, you're an elf. Nobles are racist as fuck. I doubt they could ignore an elf _and_ a qunari."

"Vashoth," he corrected, still not following her train of thought.

"Do you think they care about the difference?" She offered a weary close lipped smile. "Besides you never bathe and smell like wine. And you're fucking useless in a fight." The corners of her mouth threatened to break into a genuine teasing grin. It was a hard thing to notice unless you looked for it, but Fenris always did.

He stayed quiet, pushing himself up onto his feet to follow her out into the cold tide. As soon as the water hit his feet he grimaced, but waded out regardless. She did the same with less visible reaction. Both bags were ripped away from the rocks they were tied to and held far away from their respective torsos so that the dripping salt water didn't touch more skin than necessary.

The dry stones almost felt warm after the foray into the ocean.

"I need an answer, Goose." She said pointedly. "I was going to invite you and Lucky over dinner but the food at the Hanged Man is shit anyway."

"How romantic," he teased. She did smile at that.

"I try."

He stared at her again and she yawned, as if bored by his suspicious inspection. It wouldn't be too much of a difference from the mansion he still occupied. Slightly more legitimate, supposedly. He wouldn't have to keep bugging Aveline about the patrols at least. And no lingering shadows of prior occupants.

"Alright," he concluded and started the trek back up the cliffside. He didn't plan on making the same mistake of being behind horns during their return hike.

"Just like that?" She mused. "No upset at being officially in a noble house?"

He snickered. "You might be nobility, but you're hardly noble."


End file.
